


Shining Sea

by Caissa



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Book: Anne of Windy Poplars - L. M. Montgomery, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caissa/pseuds/Caissa
Summary: Marilla and John—the romance that was and the friendship that still may be.
Relationships: John Blythe/Marilla Cuthbert
Comments: 22
Kudos: 35
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Shining Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ingreatwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingreatwaters/gifts).



> The first scenes take place pre-canon while the last is set around the beginning of _Anne of Windy Poplars_.

“Can I offer you a ride home, Marilla?”

Marilla looked up at John, perched atop the Blythe family’s new trap, the one with the emerald green leather seats and warm maple finish. His dark curls fell over his forehead in a careless way she knew drove half the girls in Avonlea mad. She’d told Rachel she wasn’t one of them, that John was just _John_ , her friend, but she was beginning to think she was no longer so sure.

“All right then.” Heart strumming in her chest in a peculiar fashion, she took his offered hand, letting him pull her up alongside him. She stole a brief glance over her shoulder to see Rachel whispering giddily to Pammy Andrews, while Joanie Pye sent her a look sour enough to curdle fresh milk. Accepting a ride home from a boy was tantamount to a proposal of marriage in Avonlea—what _had_ she done?

John clicked the reins and they were off, leaving the crowd at the church picnic far in the distance. He chatted to her aimlessly, almost nervously, about his plans to go to Queens and then apprentice to a doctor one day. She only caught every third word. It used to be so easy between them, the conversation flowing back and forth, full of laughs and jokes like two hands playing a piece of music. Lately it seemed like something had been building in the air, that they were headed to some new destination. The feeling was tangible, like the air before a summer storm, and she felt it gathering momentum there in the carriage with every _clop clip clop_ of the horse’s hooves.

A flash of something blue and unfamiliar startled Marilla out of her reverie. “John, this isn’t the way back to Green Gables.”

“I know,” he said. “Just bear with me, Marilla. I want to show you something.”

Stubbornly, Marilla folded her arms across her breast, and clung tighter to her empty picnic hamper. She relaxed when they rounded a curve in the road—a secluded beach framed like a picture with boughs of wisteria and wild roses. She’d lived in Avonlea all her life and never seen such a beautiful sight. “What is this place?”

“It’s a secret,” John said, and the air between them grew warm with conspiracy. “You’re the only one I’ve ever shared it with. It reminded me of you.”

“Me?” Marilla looked down at her drab thin dress, without the laces and bows popular with wealthy girls like Rachel and Joanie Pye. There was nothing of roses and violets about her— _frippery_ , her mother called it with disdain. “Don’t be ridiculous, John Blythe.”

“I was studying for the Queens examination—Virgil, you know? And I came across your name. The nymph Amaryllis, from the Greek _amarysso_. Her name means _shining sea_.”

His compliment sent a wave of strange emotions washing over Marilla. Flattery—disbelief—hurt? Marilla knew who she was and she was no shining nymph. The Cuthberts as a rule held no illusions. “I—I don’t shine, John. I’m plain.”

“Not to me,” he said firmly. “Never to me.”

“But the other girls—”

“I don’t want the other girls. I want you.”

She tried to turn the other way, but his hand caught her cheek. It was soft still, a boy’s hand that had never known the callouses of farm work. He leaned forward and kissed her, sending a flush of heat to her cheeks and a strike of lightning straight down her spine.

“Besides, being smart is better than being pretty,” he told her, his voice still a fevered hush.

“So, you don’t think I’m pretty, John Blythe?” Marilla asked, her instinctive prickliness rearing its head.

John’s answer was to kiss her again. And again. The feeling made her woozy, lighter than seafoam. “Would I kiss you if I didn’t?”

Marilla closed her eyes and felt something bright bloom within her for the first time. “Shining sea, eh?” she said with a smile.

*

Hidden Beach, they called it. The name was a little prosaic perhaps, but for a span of a summer it was theirs and theirs alone.

Secret meetings after morning chores and hours stolen before sunset. Mornings and afternoons Marilla would have normally spent shelling peas or sewing shirts were spent with John instead. Her parents exchanged knowing looks when she’d come back from an errand, her hair windblown and sun-streaked. She never outright said anything, but people knew she and John were courting. Since her parents didn’t rebuke her, she had to assume they approved. Everyone said John Blythe was a nice boy from a good family who was going to make something of himself one day and the Cuthberts thought so, too.

And what else was there for Marilla to do? She’d been at odds and ends since leaving school the year before. Matthew would get the farm, of course, but she couldn’t stay at Green Gables forever. And there would be no Queens College for her, even if she did think she’d make a fine schoolmistress—her parents needed her at the farm.

On the last weekend before John left for Queens, they shared a bottle of her homemade currant wine and toasted their bright future.

“This is delicious,” John said with a smack of his lips, draining his to the last drop. The wine tinted his lips reddish pink and brought out the roses in his own fair complexion. It made him look very kissable.

“Mmmhmm,” Marilla said, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. The wine made her bold, made them both bold in their kisses in a way they had never been before. They held each other close and it felt so right, so perfect. She was all wrapped up in the warmth of the sun, the warmth of John, with the smell of the sea-blown roses in her hair. She never wanted it to end. But it did, as John gently broke their embrace, before they went too far.

“Soon,” he whispered, finger stroking a lock of her dark hair. “Soon, I’ll ask your father. I just need to finish this year at Queens.”

“I wish we didn’t have to wait.”

“I know,” John said. “Some day when we’re married, we’ll kiss as much as we like. With no parents and no busybodies like Rachel Gillis—”

“It’s Rachel Lynde, now, John,” Marilla said, mock-correcting.

“As she never ceases to remind us,” he said, that sly look in his eyes she never could resist. John sat up and reached in his pocket. “Something for you. It may not be a ring, but I hope you’ll wear it and think of me, until I can put a ring on your finger for real.”

Marilla sat up and smoothed out her skirts, freckled with sand, before opening the small velvet box. Inside was a beautiful brooch set with a large amethyst that sparkled in the sun, the same blue-violet color of the waves at Hidden Beach. “Shining sea,” she whispered. “Oh, John.”

“Yes,” John added warmly, happy that she caught his allusion. “And before you say it’s too much, and I shouldn’t have, well I had some extra pocket money from tutoring the Andrews brothers and I’ll be boarding with a cousin of mother’s, so I won’t have to worry about the extra expense.”

“It _is_ too much and you shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did.” Marilla leaned over to give John a gentle kiss on the lips. “I’ve never had anything so beautiful.”

John pinned it at the top of her collar, and she tried not to think about how out of place it must look on her practical and unromantic brown dress. She tried for a moment to see herself as John did, as someone worthy of pretty things.

“There,” John said. “Like it was made for you.”

*

“Marilla,” her mother called from the bottom of the stairs. “John’s here to take you to dinner.”

“Just a minute,” she called back. Marilla gave herself one last glance in the mirror. She hardly recognized the girl she saw there. Her thick dark hair, which she had always been a bit vain about, had been pulled back into a fashionable style, pinned up with a black velvet ribbon her mother had given her. Rachel, heavily pregnant with her first child, had come over to brush and curl Marilla’s hair, making her look more elegant than she ever could have looked on her own. She had a new purple dress of rich fine wool, and though it was not in the daring off the shoulder style that some of the girls had adopted, it was lovelier than anything she had ever known.

At the last, she pinned John’s gift—her amethyst brooch—at her throat and threw on her cloak. The fire in her room was warm and so she did not need to pinch her cheeks to give them color. For once she felt herself not shabby and sensible Marilla of Green Gables, but the future Marilla Blythe, doctor’s wife and John’s cherished sweetheart.

John waited for her at the foot of the stairs, dusting the snow from his clothes. His cheeks reddened when he saw her and she blossomed with an unfamiliar energy, pleased to have provoked this kind of reaction. They hadn’t really seen much of each other since John had returned home from Queens for the holidays. Being invited to the Blythes for Christmas Eve dinner was an honor, a sign that John’s mother saw her as John’s intended, even if it had not been made official yet.

They managed to restrain themselves until Green Gables was out of sight before sharing a warm embrace in the sleigh. “Oh John,” Marilla said, breath catching in the cold air, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know,” John said. “Letters just aren’t the same.”

Marilla blushed with nervousness, thinking about some of the letters they had written. “Did you mean what you said in your last letter?” _I can’t wait any longer_ , _I’m going to ask your father before I go back to Queens_.

“Yes. We just need to get through tonight first,” John said, in a careless tone that wasn’t really like him. “Don’t worry, they’ll love you.”

And there it was, the unspoken admission that this was some kind of test, one that Marilla could possibly fail. She knew she wasn’t the prettiest or the wealthiest girl John could have chosen for a bride. But she was clever, and hard-working, and many said one of the best cooks in Avonlea.

“Well,” Marilla said, puffing herself up to cover her wounded pride, “I brought along a little something that might help persuade.” She opened her wicker hamper to show him a couple of bottles of her famous currant wine tucked in with some fresh gingerbread.

John’s handsome face turned into a scowl and he quickly shut the hamper. “You can’t bring that in to mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’ll give the wrong impression. Mother’s been very sympathetic to temperance ever since she attended those lectures in White Sands last spring.” John patted her hand. “Don’t worry—we can drink them ourselves later.”

Marilla felt hurt. She was proud of her currant wine and upset that anyone would think a harmless glass immoral. “Well, do you agree with her?”

“No…no…not really.”

“Not really?! You certainly seem to enjoy drinking it yourself, John Blythe.”

“Well, the medical community is divided on the issue. I suppose it might be useful for medicinal purposes. But it’s probably not a good idea for a doctor’s wife to be known as a maker of spirits.”

The condescension in his tone, the air of superiority—it cut through something in her, sharper than any winter chill. Wounded and indignant, her happy bubble burst, Marilla gathered up her currant wine and leapt out of the sleigh without a word.

“Marilla, don’t be silly! You can’t mean to walk home—”

“I can and I will, John Blythe. And I won’t be bossed around by the likes of you and your mother before we’re even married.”

Her anger seemed to spark his own. “Don’t do this to me—mother’s expecting us. What will I say?”

“That I’m a drunkard and not a fit bride for you.”

“I never said that!”

“You all but did,” Marilla spat back.

“You walk away from me, Marilla Cuthbert, I’ll not chase after you.”

Marilla continued walking, her new dress getting wetter and heavy with snow with each passing step. Her temper kept her warm all the way home, but her heart felt as frozen as the snow under the cold December moon.

*

“Going my way, Marilla?”

Marilla looked up, eyes squinting in the sun, from where she was bent over the buggy’s broken axle. Dressed in her Sunday best and ankle deep in mud by the side of the road was not how she wanted to come across John Blythe. For a moment she felt like Anne, getting into one of her familiar scrapes.

“I suppose I am, John Blythe, if you’re headed back to Avonlea.”

John came down to have a look at the busted wheel, stuck in a muddy rut. “You’re going to need a new axle, that’s for sure. Come, I’ll hitch up your horse next to mine and we can send someone for the buggy once we get you home.”

Marilla grunted a perfunctory, “Thank you,” before alighting on John’s carriage. She hated accepting help from anyone, but most of all _John Blythe_. Marilla reminded herself they were soon to be in-laws, and they needed to be cordial to one another for Anne and Gilbert’s sake. But Providence help her, her pride was a bitter thing to swallow after so many years.

John made quick work of the horses and soon he was nestled up right beside her. They’d barely been in the same room for more than five minutes excepting church on Sundays for the past four decades. Nor had they exchanged more than the occasional hello or pleasantries about the weather. And now she’d be expected to sit square next to him all the way back to Avonlea. The mere thought of it was enough to bring on a migraine straight between her eyes.

“I imagine you were seeing Anne off at the station to her new post in Summerside,” John said.

“Yes,” Marilla replied. “She’s looking forward to the chance to put her degree to use. Though, of course, she is sad to be away from Green Gables.” A pause. “And how is Gilbert getting along?”

“Oh, he’s really taking to his medical studies, although a bit tired from the long hours. And, of course, he misses Anne.” John spoke so warmly of Anne, as if she was already his own. It made Marilla feel queer—happy and wounded at once.

“I’m glad to hear he’s made such a full recovery,” Marilla said, the brusqueness in her words belying the feeling in them.

John’s hand trembled at the reins, and worry ghosted across his normally cheerful visage. “He gave us all a scare there for a while. I think Anne may have had quite a bit to do with the recovery.”

Marilla had thought so, too, but didn’t like to say. Her eyes flicked around and caught a familiar glimpse of late summer roses. Their conversation, the very oddness of conversing with John after so many years had distracted her. “John Blythe, this is _not_ the way.”

“Humor me, Marilla. For the first time in forty years, just humor me.”

Marilla’s heart quickened in her breast with a nervousness she hadn’t felt since she was a girl. She smelled the sea on the breeze and saw the sunbeams dance across the waves and fought the sudden urge to cry. It was too much to say good-bye to Anne and be reminded of this in the space of one afternoon.

John slowed the carriage to a stop and they both sat there in silence for a minute before he spoke. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you since Anne and Gilbert announced their engagement. I want you to know we couldn’t be happier—Anne’s a lovely girl, a B.A., and I could not be prouder to call her my daughter-in-law. Everyone in Avonlea is proud of her, Marilla, and that’s down to you.”

Hearing this really did make Marilla cry. She looked away, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief, as if by not looking at John it would somehow make it less obvious that she was crying. “Gilbert has grown up to be a fine young man, too. I know they will make each other very happy.”

John took her hand, clasped it in his, which was still soft after all these years. She didn’t pull away. “Young people need to work things out for themselves and I don’t believe in interfering, but I am happy in some way this marriage might make right what went wrong between us all those years ago. I’ve missed you, Marilla—you were my friend before you were my sweetheart, and I’ve missed my friend.”

Sharp words sprang to Marilla’s lips, but age gave her the wisdom not to say them. “I’ve missed you, too, John.”

John’s eyes lighted on her summer shawl and he smiled. “You still wear the brooch I gave you. I’ve seen you wear it many times over the years.”

“Before Anne came along, it was the most beautiful thing in my life,” she told him, pure unvarnished honesty. The brooch was the reminder that she had once been someone’s sweetheart—and John had never asked for it back.

“I love Gilbert’s mother very much. Marriage has its ups and downs, but for the most part we’ve been blessed. She is my second love, Marilla, and you will always have been my first. Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we had patched up our quarrel?”

“Yes.” Marilla had, many times. Those quiet hours alone at night had given her much time for regret and reflection. “But then there would have been no Anne—and no Gilbert either, for that matter. So, all is as Providence has willed it to be.” Marilla would never trade the years of happiness she’d experienced as Anne’s adoptive mother for an armload of flimsy might-have-beens with John Blythe.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, though his tone sounded uncertain.

“We should get back—Rachel will talk.”

“I’d say Rachel Lynde should learn to mind her own beeswax, but if she hasn’t learned by now, she likely never will.” John clicked the reins and started back home toward Avonlea. “Perhaps you might invite me in for some refreshment. We can toast Anne and Gilbert’s engagement over a glass of your currant wine.”

Marilla felt a wry smile tug at her lips, knowing that was as close to an apology as she was ever likely to get from John Blythe. “I suppose I might. And we can raise a glass to our renewed friendship as well.”

“Friendship—Marilla, we are to be family!” John said with a laugh.

“One step at a time, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of deepened the romance between John and Marilla here, as I have always suspected Marilla might not have told Anne the full truth of her failed courtship with John. I had a lot of fun revisiting these characters and spending time in the world of Avonlea again--and I hope you have a happy Yuletide!


End file.
